


Adventures In Space Bureaucracy

by excessiveprepositionalphrases



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bureaucracy comedy in space, Friend-Insert, Gen, I am not writing in first person for the first time in ages, Other, Self-Insert, but now it is, good for me!, this wasn't going to be DSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:54:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26097439
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/excessiveprepositionalphrases/pseuds/excessiveprepositionalphrases
Summary: Starfleet Medical has a Human Resources division. This is the story of one man trapped in its cogs, and the strangest assignment of his life.
Comments: 73
Kudos: 28
Collections: Deep Space Discord Literary Universe





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This wasn't going to be in the DSD universe originally. The concept has been festering in my onedrive for ages. However, when I realized I could slot this into our universe, it felt like the story came alive again. Also, I really didn't intend to care this much about Dr. Martins. He was really just meant to be a plot device, but I immediately started caring for him. That...ended up slightly shifting my plans for where this story was going.

Dr. Elias Martins was preparing for another round of the same.

Six years he had been doing this. Every ship and every station was the same: arrive. Get assigned almost inexcusably large quarters. Get schmoozed by the captain, then the first officer, then the science officer, then the counselor. Get invited to at least one function. Attend, coldly. Be studied, from the only legal distance, by the CMO. Sleep. Get up. Talk to the CMO. Ask the crew how they like the CMO. Get told by the crew how much they dislike the CMO. Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Dr. Elias Martins had dreamed, as boy, of becoming a doctor and joining Starfleet. He wanted to touch the stars and save as many lives as he could. He got his dream, for about 8 months. Then Sekmet II happened. Dr. Martins had made a highly controversial decision – a prime directive breaking decision. He came so very close to getting kicked out of Starfleet entirely, but he could still see himself so clearly, on his actual knees in court, begging to be allowed to stay. He got his wish, but he also got his punishment. This was the Starfleet equivalent of flying a desk: Dr. Elias Martins, formerly the CMO of the starship U.S.S. Kalimba, now held the esteemed position of “Head of Starfleet Medical Human Resources Crew & Medical Staff Interactions Expert Committee and Head Crew and Medical Staff Liaison Researcher.” It had taken him 2 weeks to memorize this title – almost as long as it took him to say it. It was a very long-winded way to say that it was to his inbox that all hate mail was delivered. The plain Federation Standard explanation of his job was simple: it was his job to interview Starfleet medical personnel, ship and station staff, find out exactly how much they disliked each other, and try to teach the doctors how to act like people.

Starfleet medical had a reputation for having the best doctors in the galaxy. This was…partially true. Starfleet doctors were, unfailingly, the most medically skilled physicians to be had anywhere. Unfortunately, they weren’t actually known for their bedside manner. This was a surprise to the average person: Doctors like Dr. Leonard McCoy were legendary in popular memory for being not only stellar physicians but also for being lovely people. Unfortunately, what the average person didn’t realize was that these medical legends were the exception, not the rule. The good doctors, the truly exceptional ones, the ones who balanced technical skill with soft skills, were promoted at warp speed and stationed on the most crucial stations and ships. The rest of the ships got who they were assigned, like Dr. – Elias scrolled up the document he was writing to remind himself of the name of the man he was writing about – Dr. Yetrin Bon. Dr. Bon was the CMO of the U.S.S. Marzon, a low importance Nova Class Science Vessel that mostly spent its time collecting information on viruses, bacteria and contagions in the sector surrounding Risa. The crew of the Marzon had been accused many times of choosing a post on a ship near Risa for less than professional reasons. If you accused them of this to their faces, they would laugh awkwardly, but they never really denied it. The Marzon had therefore gained a reputation as a very warm and casual vessel; it was filled with families and people looking for a job where every day was a vacation. The captain, one Captain Brimson, was renowned for her permissiveness and general sense of chill. The Marzon was often referred to with great annoyance by other crews and Starfleet management as “The Royal Mar-ibbean” – a reference to an old Earth company that ran ships for ocean pleasure cruises. So Starfleet, of course, with all the expert crew selection talents that they were wont to have, had chosen a an absolutely perfect CMO for the “Mar-ibbean” – a good hearted but exceptionally cold Vulcan surgeon. He was one of the most skilled surgeons Starfleet medical had ever produced, but he was even more Vulcan than the average and to say that he didn’t fit in on Starfleet’s facsimile of an old Earth party boat didn’t begin to cover it. Dr. Bon was cold and prickly in the best of moments, but he became absolutely stony if you dared to mention his very, very non-Vulcan name. Unfortunately, on a ship full of people who called each other by their first names and spent more time gabbing than working, this got mentioned _a lot_. The crew couldn’t stand him, the (many) children were afraid of him, and he was the single biggest drain on the captain’s patience on the entirety of the Marzon.

Dr. Martins settled back into his seat on the transport. The screens above him showed the remaining time of the journey: 3.5 hours to Deep Space Nine. He looked back down at his report on the Marzon and added a final note:

“Expert Opinion: Dr. Bon is a skilled surgeon and diagnostician but an exceptionally poor choice of CMO for the science ship Marzon and should never have been given said position.

Recommendation: Dr. Bon should be transferred to a freighter, ambassadorial yacht in the Vulcan sector, warship, or other colder and more serious vessel, station, or surface facility. Starfleet would do well to locate a Risian or Human CMO for the Marzon. This task should be undertaken with expedience as the crew of the Marzon are beginning to experience negative health effects from avoiding medical treatment.”

Dr. Martins concluded his report and closed his eyes to get what little rest he could before starting the whole process over again in just a few hours. He groaned to himself as he drifted towards sleep. Different station, different crew. Maybe this time would be different?

No, he concluded. It would almost certainly not be.

He was jolted awake by the impatient hand of a transport attendant, shaking his shoulder.

“Dr. Martins? I believe you were traveling to DS9?”

“Yes. Right. Thank you.”

He unfolded himself from his seat and shuffled, grumpily, off the transport and out into an unremarkable grey hallway, and almost directly into the crisply uniformed, dark skinned man standing a few steps away.

“Dr. Martins. It’s a pleasure to have you aboard. I’m Captain Benjamin Sisko. My senior staff are all currently occupied, so I’m afraid I am the entirety of your welcoming committee. I hope you’re not _too_ disappointed.”

He straightened up and adjusted his anachronistic glasses. “Thank you, Captain. This will do just fine. I’m eager to get started, so if you’d just show me to my quarters…”

“Certainly. Right this way, Dr. Martins.”

 _Bet they’re way too large,_ he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

Dr. Martins sat in his overlarge quarters, munched on his breakfast, and scrolled. He was perched in front of a detailed biography of this station’s CMO, one Dr. Julian Bashir, 32 years old. His academic credentials were irreproachable, his academy scores nearly impeccable, history of published research highly impressive, especially for such a young man. Dr. Martins was struck by the fact that there seemed to be no other information about the man. He’d made waves at the Academy, broken a couple of tennis records while he was there, been stationed on Deep Space Nine, and basically fallen off the radar. In the young man’s defense, Dr. Martins thought, Deep Space Nine was pretty out of the way. It wasn’t surprising that _anyone_ stationed there had fallen off the radar. Most of the rest of the station’s compliment – a feisty Bajoran, a joined Trill with a questionable legacy of her own, a shapeshifter, a Ferengi trying far too hard to turn a profit on his bar – were solidly misfits in their own right, with very little information to be had about them. The only members of the senior staff that appeared to be legends in their own right, other than the captain (presence at Wolf 359 made anyone notable), were the two who had been transferred from the Enterprise – Worf, the first Klingon in Starfleet, and Chief Miles O’Brien, who, to Dr. Martin’s amusement, seemed to be the most decorated member of the staff. Dr. Martins was about to give up on the biography when he noticed a single line at the bottom:

_“Dr. Julian Bashir is a genetically augmented individual who hid his genetic status for over a decade. His record is exemplary, and special dispensation has been provided to accommodate his retaining his commission. However, special attention should be paid to this individual’s behavior and any evidence of instability will be grounds for immediate ejection from the service.”_

Dr. Martins nearly spit out his tea. As far as he was aware, there _were_ no genetic augments in Starfleet, especially not in the medical fields. This was suddenly someone he absolutely had to meet. He pulled on his uniform as quickly as he could (he was always issued the standard uniform of whatever location he was assigned to, in order to allow him to blend in) and stepped briskly out into the hall.

The station’s promenade was bustling. It made Dr. Martins’ head hurt. He decided to take a leisurely stroll around the entire circumference of the communal space, to get a better lay of the land. The first thing he saw was a person with pink hair, leaning over the railings on the second floor of the space. They had a small, black and white spotted animal in their hands. There was another person – Dr. Martins immediately noted that they were also wearing glasses, and immediately felt a sense of community with them – standing next to the pink haired person, also holding a small, spotted animal. They were talking and laughing, softly petting their tiny animals. The one with pink hair pointed at him and said something to their companion. And then they were both staring at him, following him intently. He squirmed, and desperately tried to shake off the feeling of being watched. He was so busy squirming, he ran directly into a small, red haired woman in a gold shouldered uniform. She nearly yelped as they collided.

“Oh! My gosh. I am so, so sorry…I’m not paying attention. It’s my bedtime, Commander…?”

“Martins. Dr. Elias Martins.”

“I’m very sorry, Dr. Martins. Wait – Doctor?”

She looked – Dr. Martins studied her face – panicked? It certainly seemed to be a type of anxiety.

“Yes. I hold doctorates in Interspecies Medicine and Exobiology.”

“You haven’t come to replace Julian, have you? I mean, I feel like if the CMO was getting replaced on us, they would have told us, and I’m sure Julian would have warned me if he was going somewhere, but…”

“Hey, Ensign – what’s your name?”

“They all just call me M.”

“Ensign M, I assure you, I have no intention of replacing Dr…Julian, as you called him. I’m only a doctor by title. My work is strictly clerical, nowadays.”

The red-haired woman gestured to the sky. “Oh, thank whatever god you believe in. Well, welcome to the station, Doctor. What are you here to work on?”

“I’m not currently allowed to discuss that.”

“Ooooh, secrets!”

“Secrets indeed, Ensign. Wait – before you go – can you tell me more about” – he gestured to the people leaning over the railings with the small animals in their hands – “Those two?”

“Ari and Giuditta! The wildlife expert and the, uh…holographic archive.”

Ensign M had a look on her face that suggested she was about to say something very different and caught herself. Dr. Martins eyed her suspiciously.

“May I ask what you were _going_ to say, ensign?” he asked.

“We uh…we call them the Holographic Kinklopedia. It’s a long story. They’re basically a holographic encyclopedia. They kind of know everything, but…well, their knowledge of interspecies and cross-cultural sexual practices is unmatched. They’re both my friends. We’re kind of friend group, you know? There’s lots more of us, I’m sure you’ll meet them while you’re here. You met a vintage starlet, a tired trill, a blue haired girl with crippling anxiety, a schoolteacher, or a quietly badass Bajoran yet?”

“Ah…no, I can’t say I have.”

“You will. Enjoy your stay here, Sir!” she said, and was off.

Dr. Martins was left standing, dumbfounded, the middle of the promenade. He adjusted his glasses again. That was always his first resort when he was uncomfortable.

* * *

“ _Doctor_ Martins…”

He cringed, on the inside. He wondered why his commanding officer always said it like that, like his title as a doctor was somehow a threat.

“How’s your experience on the station?” the other man asked. “Have you met the medical staff yet?”

“I…can’t say that I have, no. I went for a walk on the promenade, but I met an ensign who told me about a pink haired kinklopedia and then I had to go lie down.”

“Excuse me, Commander?”

“Don’t ask. I don’t know. This seems to be a rather odd station. I’ll try and get some more information for you.”

“See that you do.”


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. Martins was back on the promenade, still peoplewatching. Right now, he was studying two Bajoran women, who were sharing a table and a plate of delicious looking fruits at the replimat. He recognized one immediately as the station’s second in command, a resistance fighter turned reluctant diplomat. The other woman was unfamiliar, with reddish hair, and was leaning in to talk to the Major as quietly as possible.

“I’m…very sorry to interrupt this conversation,” he stammered, approaching the table. The two women gave him a look of instinctual distrust.

“You must be Dr. Martins. Starfleet told us you were coming. Welcome to the station,” Kira said. She was every bit the professional, but it was very clear to Dr. Martins that it took some effort for her to maintain the attitude.

“You’d be correct, Major. I’m quite honestly honored to finally meet you, as well as…?” He shot a pointed glance at the other woman.

“Lieutenant Ahna. We were just…swapping stories,” the other woman answered. “Can I ask what your plans are on the station?”

“…official Starfleet business, ma’am. That’s all I’m currently allowed to tell you, unfortunately. Right now I’m just familiarizing myself with the station. Anywhere specific I should visit?”

“Quark runs a hell of a bar, even if I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him,” Kira said.

“Which is a long way,” Ahna added.

Dr. Martins had to stifle a laugh.

“Do you think the captain might have a few moments for me?”

“I’ll be happy to find out, Doctor.”

* * *

“I’m trying to understand exactly why you’re here,” the Captain was saying. “Dr. Bashir’s presence on the station caused some controversy, but I thought we were past all that. Has something happened that I’m not aware of?”

“No-no-not at all,” Dr. Martins stammered. “I’m not here because of a complaint. No one on your station has done anything to bring me here. It’s standard procedure. I make the rounds of all Starfleet ships, stations and outposts that have a permanent compliment large enough to warrant a permanent doctor. I’m only here to discuss and survey, Captain, not to come after anyone.”

“I’m glad to hear it. The last thing I need is Starfleet making decisions about my senior staff without my input. I’ve got a good thing going here, Doctor. I’d appreciate if it’s not disturbed. Is there anything else you’ll need from me, or my staff, to do your job here?”

“Only your cooperation. I’m just here to observe and so some interviews. I’ll need a few minutes of your senior officers’ time, as well as anyone else on the station who you think would be relevant to interview with regards to Dr. Bashir.”

The captain smiled.

“I can think of a few people.”

* * *

“I’m sort of curious what this is about.”

“I’m very sorry to interrupt your day, Lieutenant. You might have seen me around the station. I’m with Starfleet’s Human Resources Department.”

Bond laughed. “Human resources? I didn’t even know we _had_ a human resources department.”

“Neither did I until I was transferred there, but that’s neither here nor there and I’d rather not talk about it…let’s move on. I just have a couple of questions for you about Dr. Bashir.”

“Dr. Bashir? This isn’t about the augment thing, is it? I thought we’d covered that.”

“No, no it’s-it’s not. This is unrelated. Why does everyone keep asking me that question? I just want to know what your thoughts are about him.”

Bond shrugged. “Julian’s cool. Kind. He patches me up an awful lot. Security is a messy business. Very into secret agents. We’ve spent _way_ too many hours in a holosuite together. He kind of takes care of…all of us.”

Dr. Martins sat back in his chair. He could count on one hand the number of stations he’d been to where his first interview had been positive. “Any complaints?” he asked.

“Do I… _need_ to have a complaint? Social boundaries take him a little time, sometimes, but that's just him. He gets better about that every day. I suppose he frustrates me when he makes me stop and take care of myself, but that’s sort of his job, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is. Thank you, Lieutenant Bond. I suppose that will be all.”

* * *

“He is very mean. He won’t tell me anything about Cardassian mating practices, even though I suspect he may be knowledgeable on the subject.”

“Excuse me?”

“I would hope he would be willing to contribute his personal experience to the greater good of history.”

“ _Excuse me?”_

“Oh, I’m sorry! I suppose you wanted to know what he’s like as a doctor,” Giuditta corrected themselves. “I’m told he’s lovely, but being a hologram, I don’t really need his services.”

Dr. Martins pinched the bridge of his nose. “Personal experiences? - Cardassian mating practices? What exactly is occurring here?”

“The doctor is in a confusing relationship with a Cardassian. Did you not know this?”

“I haven’t had the opportunity to…find that out, no.”

“Ah. He is very in love with the Cardassian. We all know it. We’re trying to get them to be more open about it, but it’s a bit of a struggle. I suppose, though, that this has nothing to do with his skill as a doctor.”

“I suppose it doesn’t, but I appreciate your honesty…though I will admit I am not tremendously happy about having that image in my head forever.”

“I am sorry. Julian is very dear to all of us, even when we’re frustrated with him. Is that what you needed to know?”

“I guess it is, yes.”

* * *

Dr. Martins rubbed his face with his hands. He’d decided he needed a break from the interview process. On the bright side, it had been the most positive batch of them he’d ever done. On the other hand…it had been the most positive batch of them he’d ever done. This job had never hurt, before. Not like this. When he closed his eyes, he could see the patients he’d saved. He could see the joy and gratitude in their faces, hear the voice of a young woman as she thanked him for curing the pain she’d been living with for years, the elderly man who could walk again, the young person who no longer heard ringing in their ears. Part of the benefit – if he could find benefit at all – in his deeply unpleasant job was that it usually worked as a balm for the pain he still felt when he thought about the person he was supposed to be. Doctors were mostly disliked, his experiences had told him. Years of interviewing people who went on at length about all the problems they had with their doctors had almost made him forget how much he loved the profession. He cleaned his glasses. Oh well. 13 interviews down, innumerable ones to go.

* * *

“I don’t interact with him very much, but he’s always been lovely to me. I…am generally uncomfortable with male physicians, so I have more experience with Dr. Girani.”

“Doesn’t _one_ of you have an issue with the man?”

Ahna shrugged. “Obviously I can't speak for the whole station, but I'll tell you right now, if you're expecting to get a bunch of vitriol directed at Dr. Bashir, you're not going to - from anyone. I mean…the man’s not perfect. No one is. He’s got his little issues, but who doesn't. We take care of each other, you know? All of us. Julian’s a part of it, but so are all our other friends. We take care of him as much as he takes care of us.”

“God, what’s that like?”

Ahna lifted her head. “Excuse me?”

“I’m…sorry. I seem to have lost my sense of professionalism. I was merely wondering what it’s like, these interactions you describe. Caring for each other.”

“I’m still learning myself,” Ahna said. “This is a very different world than the world of the occupation. Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, wondering – where will I get food and water tomorrow? Will I be safe tomorrow, will my family be safe tomorrow? And then I see my replicator on the wall, and I remember that my life is different now.”

“Hm.” Dr. Martins rested his chin in his hands. Different, indeed.

“You seem like the one who needs to be studied, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“You’re probably right.”


	4. Chapter 4

“Nothing?”

“Nothing, Sir. The worst I’m able get out of anyone is that he’s awkward, and they all say it with love in their voices.”

The admiral shook his head. Dr. Martins was beginning to feel a certain level of suspicion about his CO. He’d never seen him react like this before. He wasn’t sure he’s ever had such good reports before, either, though. He wondered if they were connected.

“Doctor, if you’re covering for this man for some reason…”

“No. No I’m certainly-certainly not. Why would I?” Dr. Martins asked. “I have yet to actually meet him. There’s no reason for me to have any…allegiance.”

“Are you sticking to the allowable questions?”

“Perfectly, sir.”

“Have you filed forms 25.76, 76.8 and 92B for each respondent?”

“Each and every one, sir.”

“Back to work, then, Doctor. See to it that you obtain some more appropriate results.”

_More appropriate?_

This job was, at its heart, a survey. It wasn’t a test. There was no right or wrong answer, or so he’d always understood. He was fairly certain his CO had never cut his eyes at him like that before. He could feel the building discomfort in his stomach that meant he was in trouble – but for once, he was sure he hadn’t done anything wrong.

He decided it was time for another walk.

* * *

“But then, it doesn’t feel like a good idea…”

“You are behaving most illogically.”

“Have I ever been logical?” asked the blue haired girl.

“A truly heartening percentage of the time, yes,” the Vulcan answered dryly.

“Okay,” the blue haired girl said definitively. She sat on the railings and directed her attention to the Vulcan. “How am I being illogical?”

“Your anxiety is illogical. Past events suggest that he’ll gleefully do just about anything you ask. Also, the idea itself has him written all over it.”

Blue hair shrugged and rolled her eyes deferentially. “Okay, so, you might be right. But I’m still anxious about it. And I’m sure glad you’re here, since I can’t tell him. Otherwise I’d be losing it. Kind of hard to soothe your anxiety when it’s related to the person who normally soothes your anxiety.”

“Just _talk_ to him. This is you and Julian we're talking about, after all. You should know this!”

“Why do you have to be _right_ all the time, Ivek.”

Dr. Martins watched the scene. He figured this must have been the blue haired girl with the crippling anxiety. Whoever Ivek was to her, they seemed incredibly close. He felt a little pang of pain at the sight.

“Because I am,” Ivek was answering.

“Yeah, well. You’re unfair.”

“And you’re short.”

Both halves of the conversation melted into laughter. Dr. Martins saw his way in.

“Excuse me, Lieutenant – they just told me your name was…Savannah. I’m sorry, I have no idea what to call you.”

She surveyed him with suspicion. He felt slightly concerned about the way he was being looked up and down. He couldn’t help but notice that she seemed to keep glancing at the shoulders of his uniform. “I haven’t really got a last name,” she said finally. “No time for it. Just Savannah. That’s all. Anyway, most people call me ‘computer girl’ or ‘the girl with the blue hair’ so the one name usually serves just fine.”

“I hate to admit that ‘the girl with the blue hair’ is approximately how you were described to me.”

“See?” she said.

“I…guess I do. Do you have a few moments? I need to ask you some questions. My name is Dr. Elias Martins, I’m with Starfleet Medical.”

Her face paled immediately. Dr. Martins wondered how she could possibly get paler, but she had, and he swore she had taken a half step backwards. “Um, sure? …Why? What have I done? Am I in trouble? Did I do something wrong?”

“…No? Not at all. They’re not even about you. Meet me in the wardroom in 15 minutes, if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah. Sure. Sure.”

* * *

She was spinning back and forth nervously in the chair. “I don’t quite understand what’s going on.”

“Calm down, it’s alright! This doesn’t even have anything to do with you. I only want to ask you some questions about Dr. Bashir.”

“Wh-Julian? What about Julian? Is this about the augment thing again? Julian struggles to kill insects, he’s not going to be the next Khan Singh,” she said, indicating her frustration with a gesture.

“Every single person I have spoken to has asked me if this is ‘about the augment thing.’ I assure you, Lieutenant, this has nothing to do with ‘the augment thing.’”

“Good. I don’t want to have to defend him against that nonsense again.”

_Special attention should be paid to this individual’s behavior and any evidence of instability will be grounds for immediate ejection from the service._

An idea he deeply hated was starting to crystalize in his mind. He filed it away for later. “I’m not concerned about his status as augment of otherwise,” he said, leaning in slightly. Savannah leaned away as he did. “I only want your opinion on the man.”

“I…you have to ask?” she said, studying the table. “I would have thought it was obvious.”

Dr. Martins chuckled and set down his PADD. “I think you and I are talking past each other here,” he said. “I suspect you think I have a lot more information than I do. I’m Starfleet Medical Human Resources. I ask crews questions about their doctors. That’s all. It’s unprompted, and performed in rounds. I get around to every station and ship about once every three years. I’m not here because of a complaint or a report, and I have to interview more or less the whole compliment of the station, so I haven’t picked you for any specific reason. I’ve talked to dozens of people already, you just happen to be the one I’m talking to now. Anything else – any of this background you seem to think I have – is a mystery to me. So why don’t you start at the beginning, hmm?”

There was an oddly familiar warmth in the way he said the last part of his sentence, and Savannah leaned back in.

“It’ll all make sense when I get to the end. Do you want the abbreviated version or the whole story?”

“The whole story, I suppose.”

His smile was…sweet. Bright. He seemed kind of nice, Savannah thought.

“I don’t like doctors very much. No offense, I hope – I’m sorry. It’s not a moral judgment, it’s a phobia. Doctors make me deeply uncomfortable.”

“I won’t judge you for that, I promise. I’m only concerned with your story,” Dr. Martins assured. Her general discomfort with him, and with the situation, was starting to make sense.

“Julian’s the only doctor I feel like I’m able to trust. He’s one of the only _people_ I really trust, honestly. I was so scared when I met him…I don’t want to know how I acted. He was so calm and kind and gentle with me. And then I started talking to him and I realized he’s just a nerd. He started going on about…subatomic particles and vascular diseases, or something like that. And it was like…I want to listen to this man talk for the rest of my life. It's kind of sad but I realized he didn’t really have anyone else to talk to. All it takes to be Julian’s friend is to not run away, and he’ll immediately take you in his arms, but people tend to run away. I didn’t, and my friends didn’t, and we’ve been so lucky to have him in our lives. See, this is why I thought there must be a reason you were talking to me. It’s not like it was a slow burn friendship, I think I was looking for excuses to bother Julian within the first week of knowing him, but over the past couple years we’ve become kind of inseparable, and everyone knows it. People joke about it. I thought you must have mentioned him to someone and they told you to talk to me.”

“They didn’t, actually but…continue.” 

“I’ve got anxiety. I’m never not anxious. Julian makes me feel safe. You’ve heard of security blankets, I have a security human. When I can’t sleep, which is often, I go and sleep in the infirmary. Our schedules are pretty offset, so he’s usually around, but even when he isn’t, I can sleep there. It’s a pavlovian thing at this point. It’s like there’s something inside me that stays wound up all the time. It hurts so much, and it’s so exhausting. When he’s around…I can rest. Whatever that thing is immediately unspools. I understand him. We understand him. He understands us. It might be kind of weird that I’m a grown adult who leans so hard on another person, but as Julian himself would say, it’s okay to need people. I’m trying to really internalize that.”

She sat back in her chair. “I love him a whole lot. He’s not bad to look at, either. Honestly I’m kind of in love with him, but he knows that. He’s taken, anyway, by the Cardassian, and I don’t do partners, so it’s a great system. He sure is pretty, though. Have you actually met him?”

“I…haven’t had the pleasure,” Dr. Martins stuttered.

“Oh. You’re missing out. He’s beautiful. His eyes are very green. He’s kind of hard to explain unless you meet him. Once you talk to him you’ll understand. Oh, you totally should find an excuse to get hurt. Let him treat you. You can talk to him and to us all you want, but let me tell you right now - if he's never touched you, you're missing out. That man has some very nice hands.”

* * *

“He’s my boss, so I feel like I need to be super professional, you know?” Mimi said. She leaned her head to one side, and a stray dark hair fell out of her crown braid.

“You don’t have to be. Your comments here are confidential. If you have a concern…”

He wanted to hit himself. Leading questions. His CO was starting to rub off on him.

“Oh gosh, no. He’s wonderful. He’s the reason I came to the station at all. I’m a physiotherapist, but of course you probably knew that. When I was at the academy, I felt like there was some empathy missing in the way they taught us to treat patients. They taught us the mechanics and all, but I wanted to make people feel comfortable. It felt like no one ever explained that to me. I happened to be talking to someone about it and they told me the best bedside manner they’d ever seen on a doctor was this Dr. Julian Bashir. I started researching him and discovered all his research and turned into something of a fan. I figured it was worth a shot, so when I had to pick somewhere to study for my last year of training, there was no question. So here I am!”

“You’re the first person I’ve talked to who’s actually part of his staff. What’s he like as a commanding officer?”

“Lovely. Not as permissive as you might think. He’s very soft as a doctor, but a surprisingly firm hand as a CO. But it’s in a good way. He’s always fair and reasonable with us, he just doesn’t have time for anything that could harm someone or upset a patient. He’s always ready to explain himself and to help us and listen to our ideas. Sometimes we’re right and he’s not – always feels so good when that happens. But you don’t want to mess with him when it’s life or death. He can get a little fierce when there’s a life on the table, but that’s kind of why we all love him so much. You always feel secure that he would be the same way if it was your life.”

* * *

"Oh, you're here to talk about Julian? What do you want to know?"

"Anything of relevance."

Susan considered the unfamiliar officer.

"He's always nice to me. I think I've fallen asleep on his shoulder more than a few times. Savannah and I fix the computers on the station, and it sure seems like he breaks them a lot. It's always a good day when we get to hang out with Julian. He's always so gentle when he's treating you. Oh, my god - my favorite Julian story is from a couple months ago. We had a vole infestation. Julian and the Chief together figured out we could anesthetize the voles and beam them off the station. It was ridiculous. Savannah got very high, I got very sleepy - we had a whale of a time."

"That sounds...chaotic."

"Oh, it was a disaster," Susan confirmed "But we got rid of the voles. Oh, that's the other thing. He'll make you stop and care for yourself. If you even look tired, it's medical leave and rest for you. That kind of keeps us all going."

* * *

He couldn’t sleep. He just kept tossing and turning. It was like a scene from a bad old movie, he thought – as if there were voices in his head. Nice things. So many nice things.

“Computer, time,” Dr. Martins said groggily.

“The time is 2400 hours.”

Oh well, a reasonable time to go to the bar if there ever was one. He pulled on his uniform and shuffled down to the bar, seating himself in the darkest corner he could find to watch the whole room. He wasn’t allowed to speak to anyone before he interviewed them – the risk of introducing bias was too high. But now he had a little freedom, as he’d finished speaking to everyone but the doctor himself. He took in the room – people everywhere, every species. A table of Andorians, a group of Klingons. There was a larger table towards the center of the room that was occupied almost entirely by people he recognized as saying some of the nicest things about Dr. Bashir. He could see Mimi’s blue uniform and Savannah’s blue hair, everyone he’d spoken to and a few he hadn’t – technically, his only responsibility was to the Starfleet and Bajoran crews. The military ones. He’d pointed out to Starfleet long before that if he wasn’t talking to the civilians on these stations he really wasn’t getting a very accurate sample, but he’d just been laughed at. So there were plenty of people he didn’t know. He honed in on one of them though, the only one he didn’t recognize who was in uniform – a tall, thin man with short dark hair. The familiar medical blue was a good enough hint, but he didn’t even need it. It was easy enough to tell by the way Savannah seemed to be sleepily leaning on his shoulder. Loved. That was how everyone looked. Everyone was laughing and talking, yelling nonsense across the table. He was so engrossed in his eavesdropping, he didn’t notice the woman standing in front of him until she spoke.

“Excuse me? Commander? I’m so sorry to interrupt.”

She was beautiful, with curly dark hair and a pink scarf tied in it.

“That’s quite alright. I’m – my name is Elias. You can just call me Elias. I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Irena,” she said softly. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“Not at all.”

She sat down next to him, and stared thoughtfully into her drink. “I’m an empath,” she explained. “And you should know that I could feel your pain from across the room.”

“Oh god, really? I’m so sorry. I didn’t want to cause anyone any trouble.”

“No trouble at all.”

He smiled sadly at her. “Have you ever been lonely, Irena?”

“Many times. And what I do…the nature of my work is such that I talk to a lot of lonely people.”

“So?” he asked. He took off his glasses. He couldn’t really see anything without them, but it was kind of nice. The world seemed kinder when it was fuzzy. “What do you do about it?”

Irena followed his eyeline to the table filled with her friends. “You can go edge in on that group, you know,” she said. “I know those people – all of them. They’re good people.”

“I can’t. I shouldn’t, and I can’t. I won’t be here long. Just another day or so. I need to talk to Dr. Bashir – it’s a long story – and then I’ll be out of your hair. If I go talk to them…it’ll only be someone else to miss.”

“That seems like a very good philosophy for staying lonely forever.”

“You’re right. Of course, you’re right. But it sure does hurt less.”


	5. Chapter 5

Right, this was the easy part. Talk to the doctor. This was why he always started with the crew interviews – so he knew what to expect. Today, he was expecting something very interesting, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was. He stepped into the infirmary, and nearly jumped out of his skin. He was greeted by two figures, one tall and one much shorter, wearing outfits he vaguely recognized as the garments of ancient earth physicians – floor length brown cloaks, hats, and masks that resembled some species of bird. There was something deeply unsettling about the aesthetic.

“Oh, holy shit! Oh, my god. You both scared the living daylights out of me. I’m sorry, I’m looking for Dr. Bashir.”

The shorter figure laughed, and pulled off their mask – it was only Savannah, blue hair spilling out from under the hat as she removed it. “Sorry for the scare,” she said, still laughing. “We’re plague doctors!”

The other figure removed their mask and hat. “If you’re looking for Doctor Bashir, you’ve found him!” the man said with a smile. He surveyed his own clothes began shedding layers of dark brown fabric. “I, uhhh…I don’t normally dress like this.”

“My fault, sorry,” Savannah said, peeling off her own cloak to reveal her gold shouldered uniform. “Just some holosuite shenanigans. My idea entirely. Don’t judge Julian, I drug him into it.”

“Hey, that’s not entirely fair! I was just as into the idea as you were. Commander – I’m sorry. You wanted to speak to me?”

“Meet me in the wardroom in 15. I only need a few moments of your time.”

“Of course."

* * *

He was pretty. They hadn’t been kidding. Dr. Martins found himself oddly flustered by…him. He wasn’t sure exactly what feature it was, but it was certainly something.

“Would you please tell me what this is about?” Julian asked, clearly bracing himself for some kind of righteous battle.

Dr. Martins was pushed immediately into damage control. “Nothing, actually! It’s standard procedure. I only want to ask you a few questions.”

Julian shrugged. “Ask away.”

“How did you end up with this particular post?”

“Oh, I requested it! A little adventure, you know? I had my choice of assignment, but I don’t think I could do much good on a flagship. This is where I’m needed.”

“Has it given you the ‘adventure’ you wanted?”

“And more,” Julian answered. Dr. Martins was at a bit of a loss. He was used to using these meetings to take the CMO down a peg, but he didn’t have much to say.

“What do you think is the crew’s general impression of you?”

“Of me? I don’t know. Positive, I hope.”

Dr. Martins could see he was edging up against some latent anxiety in his subject.

“…I think I annoy people,” Julian continued, a hint of sadness in his voice. “But I hope none of them hold it against me. I can think of a few people who would be happy to…regale you with tales of my genius, if for some reason I need someone on my side – which I’m starting to worry I do.”

“I’ve already met them,” Dr. Martins said. “And they have. Especially the other plague doctor, and…Mimi, I think? Your physiotherapist.”

Julian smiled. “They would, both of them.”

Dr. Martins leaned in.

“My job – well, my job now – is basically…to teach doctors how to act like people. I’m Human Resources, Doctor. Normally – 99 times out of 100 – I have a wall of complaints. This is the time I normally spend disciplining people. But I feel like you should know I don’t have much to say to you. Your crew likes you, your friends adore you – and you’ve got a lot of them, too. This should take me more time, but there’s just not much for me to say here.”

Julian nodded, a wave of relief clearly washing over him.

“I do want to know, though – almost everyone I talked to, when I said your name, immediately asked me if this was ‘about the augment thing.’ I’ve read your file. I know you’re an augmented individual, but I don’t have a lot of context. Would you mind explaining that to me, at least part of it?”

“I had…a lot of difficulties as a child. I don’t think I was the son my parents wanted. I was only 6 years old, and apparently not meeting their expectations. They decided to help the process along. Significant portions of my genetic structure were altered – to make me taller, smarter, faster. The original claim was that it was mostly my mental abilities but…I don’t think there’s many features they didn’t touch.”

“You conveniently omitted all of this information on your application,” Dr. Martins said, not exactly accusatory, but curious.

“What would you have done?” Julian asked. “ _I_ am contraband. If Starfleet had their way I would be locked up somewhere. When my genetic status was revealed, it was everything the Captain could do to keep me from getting thrown out of the service. A genetically engineered _doctor?_ As far as significant portions of Starfleet Command are concerned, I’m a monster. There’s plenty of people who think I don’t have a right to be here.

If you’re one of them, this conversation is over.”

“No.” Dr. Martins shook his head. “No, I’m not. I wasn’t, anyway, but after the last two days…no one could deserve to be here more.”

His conversation with his CO was starting to come clear, he thought. He made a mental note to take that up later.

“Can I ask you a more personal question? Off the record?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ve talked to a _lot_ of people about you. And everyone has the same things to say – “he’s kind,” “patient,” “gentle.” “Kind,” especially. I think that was the first word out of everyone’s mouths. Savannah, your plague doctor companion – she’d have written a novel about you if I’d let her.”

Julian smiled. “Trust me, I’m very aware. She makes no attempt at hiding it.”

“It’s kind of cute. But there’s something she said – that you were the only doctor she could ever trust. And the thing is, she said it in so many words, but that was a theme with everyone. There was something unspoken. Everyone seems to trust you, implicitly.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“I used to be a doctor, too – well, I still am, but I haven’t been able to practice in a long, long time. Doctor Bashir, I’ve talked to hundreds of doctors and thousands of officers, and the ones who get along at all don’t trust each other the way your crew trusts you. There’s always some underlying discomfort there. Doctors make people uncomfortable, and it’s part of my job to mitigate that – and I don’t know how. Can you tell me a little about…your philosophy, or what it is you think you’re doing that makes it so easy for people to trust you? When I was the Chief Medical Officer of the Kalimba, my crew liked me, too, and I can’t figure out what I did. I can’t figure out how to articulate it, and I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me.”

Julian sat back in his chair. “I knew it,” he said. “You have retired CMO written all over you.”

“I’m not retired by choice. It’s kind of a long story. Without being disloyal to my career, you should know my feelings about Starfleet command are not much kinder than yours. They’re be very happy to be rid of me, too.”

“You’ll have to tell us the story one day,” Julian said. Dr. Martins had to clean his glasses again. For all the talking everyone had done about Dr. Bashir being beautiful, he really hadn’t been prepared. He was smiling at him, a little sparkle in his green eyes, and Dr. Martins was fairly sure he was having heart palpitations

“To answer your question,” Julian continued, “I don’t think it’s particularly complicated. No one deserves to suffer, for any reason. I’m always trying to make sure my patients are comfortable – physically and mentally. If I was only treating their injuries and not making sure they felt safe, I don’t think I would be doing my job.”

“That’s what I would have said, too, but it doesn’t seem to be enough.”

“You have to listen to what your patients tell you, but you have to read them, too. Patients can be surprisingly unwilling to admit what they need, even when you ask them directly. If you can show them they don’t need to be ashamed, it’s pretty easy.”

Dr. Martins nodded in agreement. “Yeah, that’s sort of it, I guess. It’s…trying to make people feel seen.”

“Exactly. There’s nothing more important in the world to me than that person, and I think people can feel it.”

Dr. Martins sat with the thoughts for a moment.

“Doctor Bashir? Thank you for your time. You’re free to return to your duties. I can tell you right now, you’ll probably never hear about this again.”

“I’m counting on you to come back and tell us your story eventually.”

“I don’t know when I get the chance, but I assure you, I will.”

* * *

“What’s your final report, Martins?”

“I’m not quite ready to present it yet, Sir.”

“You’ve had your 3 days. You’ve already indicated this is a simple assignment. If I’m going to keep you there, I need a good reason.”

Dr. Martins considered his next words carefully.

“It’s not a great look for Starfleet, having this augment in such a visible position. If I had a little bit more time, perhaps I could…help you to resolve this issue.”

He held his breath. The admiral nodded deferentially.

“I’m glad we understand each other.”

“As am I. Martins out.”

 _Right_. That certainly explained the admiral’s apparent disappointment with his generally positive reports. He couldn’t help but feel betrayed at apparently being used, but he was glad at least for a couple more days on the station. That was all he had wanted, in truth. He’d come to the conclusion he needed a couple of days to process things.

“Computer, music. Smooth Jazz.”

“ _Playing smooth jazz.”_

He flopped himself down on the sofa in his borrowed quarters and allowed his mind to drift. What would it take to get himself transferred out of his current position, he wondered? Transfers were easy, normally, but his position was penance. Almost 6 years of this. Surely, by now, he had paid his dues. _George._ He should definitely talk to George. Though, he figured, anything that stopped his incessant traveling would probably meet with George’s approval. He was daydreaming about his last vacation when his doorbell chirped. He sat up.

“Come in?”

He recognized his guest as one of the civilians from the table.

“Hi, Doctor Martins,” they said, slightly cautiously. “We haven’t met. I’m Robertson; I’m one of the schoolteachers. The entire group has elected me as their representative. If Starfleet regulations allow it, we’d like to invite you to dinner.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We can be plague doctors, just for one day...
> 
> Seriously, that had nothing whatsoever to do with the plot but someone made a post once about Julian as a plague doctor and I have never been able to get it out of my mind. I'm more than a little obsessed with the plaguey bois anyway so I just shoehorned it in for the hell of it. Please do picture Julian in full plague uniform. Please. Because I am.
> 
> anyway who's ready to completely turn Dr. Martins' life around??? because THAT'S WHAT WE'RE DOING


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't intend this to be so long, but I just had to get this backstory DOWN

Dr. Martins stammered.

“I-uh-yes, it’s allowed, I mean, technically, my work is finished here, I-when?”

“Now!” Robertson said with a laugh.

“I guess, yeah. Yes! Absolutely!”

“Good. Dax is cooking.”

On the other side of the habitat ring, there was a friendly argument occurring.

“I don’t think he’s going to come,” Irena was saying. “I would hope that he does, but he seemed pretty intent on not making any connections when I talked to him last night.”

“He’ll come!” Mimi said in response. “At least, I think he will. He seemed kind of sweet and sad.” She was leaning affectionately on her partner Kit, who was taking in the whole scene with their traditional air of mystery. Everyone loved them, but no one quite knew what they actually did. They’d just returned from one of their “disappearances,” and Bond, Lili, and Garak were all eyeing them with suspicion.

“I for one think the good doctor could use our friendship,” Dax said, furiously whipping the large bowl of chocolate mousse she was holding with both arms. The whole room nodded in agreement.

“He’d better let us love him,” Savannah said. She was hanging upside down off the sofa, legs over the back of it and head towards the ground.

“That’s very thoughtful of you, dear, but one must remember there are some who prefer solitude,” Garak said, from his previously nearly completely silent perch on a nearby chair. Savannah cut her eyes at him judgmentally.

The door slid open, and every head in the room lifted like a herd of anxious prairie dogs. Robertson, followed by…Dr. Martins. Kira smiled at him from across the room and quickly appointed herself the voice of the crowd.

“We’re glad you could make it, Doctor! Have a seat, make yourself comfortable.”

He just nodded, and took and awkward seat on an empty chair. He recognized many people he had spoken to and a few he hadn’t. He spotted Irena and a man he assumed must have been _the_ Cardassian everyone had spoken about, Ari and Guiditta, the former still having a small, furry animal sitting on their shoulder and the latter still very pink, Mimi the physiotherapist…he counted heads and realized this must have been the entire group that so much of the crew had referred to in conversation. Kind of adorable, he thought.

“We figured you’d be allowed to talk to all of us now,” Susan explained. “And you seemed like you needed cheering up.”

“You’re all very sweet, thank you.”

“So, Doctor – are we the strangest crew you’ve met?” asked Savannah, still upside down.

“Um – I would have to say yes.”

“You do realize the comedy of you asking that while upside down,” Ivek, who was seated next to Savannah pointed out.

“I do indeed.”

“Just checking.”

“We’re all on kind of a first name basis around here. Feels sort of odd just calling you Doctor Martins,” M said.

“It’s not that strange, is it? I mean, you do you have your own doctor,” he answered, vaguely indicating Julian.

“Yeah, we do, and we all just call him Julian.”

Julian shrugged, as if to say there was nothing he could do to help.

“Elias,” he said finally. “It’s Elias, for any of you who I didn’t introduce myself to completely. It’s been years since anyone called me just Elias.”

“Elias,” Dax repeated, as if testing the name. “You know, it suits you. I kind of like it.”

Elias. He sat with it for a long moment. It wasn’t even his rank that had made him Dr. Martins for as long as he could remember. It didn’t feel like a matter of respect, either. It was simply that it had been a long time since anyone – except George, of course – had been close enough to him to call him by that name.

He made a mental note to call George later.

“We henceforth christen you Elias,” M said affectionately.

Elias smiled.

“So where will you be headed after this?” Robertson asked.

“Honestly, I don’t know. I’ll probably be sent to the nearest Starbase, and then on to the nearest ship from there. My data drives are starting to get rather full, I need to stop and do a massive upload of my records before I proceed.”

“Folks, dinner is served!” Bond announced.

The chaos of a dozen conversations died down as everyone was too busy stuffing their faces to talk about anything. It was less of a cohesive dinner than a chaotic smorgasbord as Bond & Dax had outdone themselves with assorted dishes from multiple cultures. They had attempted to cater to a dozen tastes at once and done an admirable job of it.

Warm and full, the group decamped again to the sofas and chairs. Elias found himself fascinated by the apparent spiderweb of relationships around him. It was abundantly clear that everyone in the room cared deeply for everyone else, but there were some closer relationships within the broader circle. His empathic companion from the bar was seated next to a Cardassian – he had gathered in the course of the evening’s conversation that his name was Garak, and that this was _the_ Cardassian the crew had alluded to. The occasional longing glances he had noticed Garak tossing in Julian’s direction certainly supported this idea. Robertson was perched on the other side of Garak, and the three of them seemed deep in conversation about something or other. The two Bajoran women stuck close to each other as well. Elias thought they seemed to have some sort of mutual understanding. He hadn’t been this close to Bajor since the end of the occupation, and it occurred to him that all Bajorans must share some common understanding now. He had never thought of it before. Mimi was still hanging tightly on to the slightly mysterious, rainbow haired fellow she’d been seated next to all night, but she was talking excitedly to Dax, stars in her eyes. And Savannah had curled up on one of the sofas, clearly half asleep, but still using Julian’s thigh as a pillow. He was deep in conversation with Susan about something or other but was still absentmindedly rubbing Savannah’s arm as he talked. He lifted his hand momentarily in an animated gesture, and the half-conscious young woman frowned.

“You’re like a cat,” Elias said to her, laughing.

She opened one eye. “Hmmm?”

“You’re like a cat.”

“Yes. I need to be petted.”

“Fair enough,” Elias said.

“Well _I_ have a question for our new friend,” M said loudly, breaking her voice above the din of conversation. Elias shrank slightly at suddenly being the center of attention, but raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“You told me when I ran into you weren’t a doctor _anymore._ I feel like there’s a story there.”

“You’re right,” Julian said. “I’m positive he has a story to tell us.”

Elias felt like a fish in a tank, a dozen pairs of eyes watching him expectantly. “None of you are going to let me have any peace until I tell you, are you?” he asked.

“Not for a moment,” Susan confirmed.

Elias nodded slowly, and collected his thoughts.

“All I ever wanted to be was a doctor. I grew up on a Starbase that housed one of the most advanced hospitals in the federation. It wasn’t an accident – it was the whole reason we moved there. My mother was ill for a lot of my childhood – she had what we later found out was an inherited condition that had lain dormant in her family for generations. When she started to get very ill, it was off to the Starbase for my family. When she was very sick, we spent months at the time in hospitals. I remember the doctors being some of my earliest friends – I always thought everything they were doing was fascinating. When my father was too busy caring for my mother to talk to me, I just talked to the doctors. Bless them, they always explained everything they were doing in terms I could understand. We were there for so long that they all became part of my family.

“It took several years, but when they were finally able to identify what was wrong with my mother, they were able to halt and even reverse the disease. For years, my mother had been horribly ill, and then, in a few months, she was healthier than she had ever been. They gave my mother her quality of life back. If I hadn’t already decided it was what I wanted to do, I decided then. Every choice I made from that moment on was based around whether or not it would help me to become a doctor. I suppose I was lucky that I had such clarity of purpose from such a young age. And of course, not only did I want to be a doctor, I wanted to be a Starfleet doctor – like the ones who had helped my mother.

“I had been packing my head with medical knowledge in every waking moment for so long that by the time I finally enrolled in Starfleet Medical Academy, a lot of it felt easy. Sure, there were challenges – lots of them. Never let anyone tell you medicine is easy. But those first few years, some of the rote memorization – I had already memorized it all! I graduated with high honors, and, much like your Doctor Bashir – Julian, I’m sorry, I’m trying to get that right – I had my choice of assignment. I picked the fun ship – The USS Kalimba. I’d been through a lot – my mother’s illness, a childhood on a Starbase, medical school. I decided I wanted to breathe easy for a while. The Kalimba was beautiful, luxurious, clean – she was a little old, but some people said she was the prototype for the Enterprise-D. I’m not sure how true it was, but it was a popular legend.”

He paused, to take in the room. His audience was enraptured, watching him with large eyes. He continued.

“It was a pretty nice life – mostly calm, lots and lots of shore work. We spent a lot of our time on the surface of planets with communities and species we had already established contact with. I got to treat new species, and take care of a crew that immediately became a family. Part of my job, outside of being the CMO, was to visit hospitals that had been established in the last 5 years or so, and ensure they were running smoothly, following procedure, didn’t need anything else from us, the works. They were places that were…not new colonies, but not flagships either. My point is that our mission kept us on the inside edge of the outside edge of federation space, if that makes any sense. Sometimes we could end up pretty far afield, and sometimes distant distress signals hit us first.

“It was still early – or, what I felt like was early – in my time on that ship. I had only been on board for…8 months, maybe? We picked up a signal. It was an odd signal, because it wasn’t a distress signal. It wasn’t even directed at us. We found out later it was an internal radio signal that happened to be on the same frequency as our communications, and – it doesn’t matter. The point is, whoever it was intended for, we intercepted it. It was a voice message, that seemed to be intended to go from one governmental facility to another. It was a man’s voice, and I – I...I can never forget what he said. It’s going to be burned into my mind until the day I die.

“‘ _Elacrum has taken even more of them now. My wife has begun to show the signs, and my father too. I don’t know what I will do if they wither. I don’t have anyone else.’_

“How was I meant to carry on?”

Elias realized he was starting to sniffle.

“What was I mean to do about that? The captain – and she was a good captain, too – the captain said we should ignore it. But I couldn’t. When I tried to go to sleep that night I could hear that poor man’s voice in my mind. _I don’t have anyone else._ The communications officers were under orders to immediately discard any messages received on that frequency, but I tuned my transponder in sickbay, and started listening in. It only took a few hours of eavesdropping to put it all together. It was a nearby planet with a name that got translated as Sekmet II,” – at the sound of the name, Julian’s face paled with horrified familiarity – “and they apparently were facing an outbreak of a mysterious illness they called ‘Elacrum.’ I found out later it was their language’s word for ‘to wither.’ They called it that because that’s just what people who had it did – they withered. The disease caused sudden, severe atrophy of the muscles and tissues, starting with the extremities. Eventually it progressed to affecting organs like the lungs and heart, at which point the afflicted would simply…die from weakness. It was a very simple disease in effect, but they just didn’t have the medical technology to cure it.

“I couldn’t just stand there. How could I? I reminded the captain about Sekmet II and the message we’d intercepted, but she was having none of it. And I want to make something very clear – I don’t fault her for that. Her choice was every bit as valid as mine. It was abundantly clear they were a pre-warp civilization and they knew absolutely nothing of us. We really didn’t have the room to do anything, and I was fine with that choice for Starfleet. It’s exactly what I would have expected. I just couldn’t sit with that choice for me. I stole a shuttle, and went down to the surface.”

The whole room leaned in, like children being told a ghost story.

“It’s not like I don’t care about the prime directive, so I ditched the uniform, landed in the most inconspicuous place I could, and did my best to blend in. Kind of hard to do when you get to a planet and find out all its inhabitants are purple, but I had surprising luck claiming that I was ‘born disfigured.’ They were so desperate that when I said I was a doctor it took almost no effort at all to join their research efforts. The disease wasn’t contagious, but had suddenly started sweeping through the population about a month prior. No one could tell what had started it, and since it didn’t appear to be contagious, no one could tell what was causing it.

“I was down there for almost a week. Every night I would steal a few samples and some notes, and go back to my shuttle to make use of my more advanced equipment. Once I got the chance to crack away at it with Starfleet tech, it became pretty simple and obvious – the illness they called ‘Elacrum’ was actually an activation of a long dormant, genetically coded immune response. They had had a series of unseasonable warmth, and a plant which had previously only been native to small portions of forest had taken over the planet like its own brand of virus. It was the plant’s spore that were setting off the immune response. The Elacrum, the withering – the whole time, it was just an allergy.

“As soon as we knew that, it was crazy easy. We cured the thing in…a few hours. We saved thousands. They wanted to build a statue of me. Their culture was a little…questionable, in some ways. They said everything exactly as they meant it, which meant they could sometimes be a bit offensive. So I was hailed as ‘The Ugly Angel.’

“I knew what I’d done. I knew what I’d done the minute I took that shuttle. I knew this was probably the end of my career. That hurt like being shot, but I couldn’t leave it – I couldn’t stand by and watch them die so horribly. I was court martialed, and that’s exactly what I told them. Even the court admitted to the moral leaning of what I’d done, but they had to rule on the prime directive. I begged them not to kick me out of Starfleet entirely. It was decided that since I already had some experience grading hospitals, sufficient punishment would be to send me to the Starfleet equivalent of hell – Human Resources. That was six years ago. And I suppose that brings us to now.”

There was a long, dense silence as the shock rolled over.

Count on Julian to break a silence.

“When you said you had a story, I didn’t expect it to be Sekmet II,” he said. “You should know that story is told to new cadets at Starfleet Medical within our first week. They tell it as a cautionary tale about disregarding the Prime Directive, but inevitably, the young doctors immediately consider that doctor a hero. I have friends who would have given anything to meet you.”

Elias laughed. “It’s a…very interesting legacy. It’s killing me, though. I have to admit, you guys are really causing me a problem. I was almost used to this life, and listening to people talk about how annoyed they were with their doctors helped me not to miss it so much. But these last few days, hearing all of you talk about how much you love him – how much they love you, Doctor – it’s really starting to sting again.”

“Could you get…transferred back?” Savannah asked, desperately reaching for hope.

“I’m still a doctor, though I think I could use a refresher on practical experience. But since my position was a punishment…I don’t see how. Starfleet is somewhat ashamed of me. I don’t think they want to acknowledge the Ugly Angel. I’ve been out of practice for so long I don’t think I could cut it as a CMO anymore, and there’s no way they would give me such a position. Maybe, if the planets aligned, I might be able to steal myself a position under another doctor on a low importance ship or something like it, but I’m not sure who would have me. I’m too frightened to even try. I barely stayed in the service at all. I suppose I should be grateful for what I have.”

The room fell silent again as everyone processed the thought.

“Anyway,” Elias continued, “I’m going to have to leave here the day after tomorrow. I can’t justify staying. I barely snuck into staying a bit longer because I flat out lied to my commanding officer, and he’s going to catch me in that sooner or later. But you should all know it’s been an honor to meet you all.”

Kira appointed herself the voice of room once more.

“Well, Doctor, you’ll always have friends here.”

Elias smiled warmly. “What a lovely thing to know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry guys, this is NOT the end! I know it kind of feels like an ending but I'm just sleepy and needed to tie this scene up so I could get at least SOME update up for you guys since this chapter has been getting longer and longer all day. We have more coming, I promise! We still have to fix Elias's life!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jori's fine, guys! I promise! I know I accidentally gave him like, the sense of humor of someone who's dying, but I promise he's fine. Just letting you all know before you dive into the chapter and get worried about him. Also, mild TW for medical stuff I suppose? Nothing too graphic, but this is a very doctory chapter.

“Computer, open a channel. To home.”

“ _Opening channel.”_

Elias settled in in front of his computer terminal and smiled broadly when his husband’s face appeared on the screen.

“George!”

“Darling!”

Elias felt a settling in his heart. He hadn’t seen his husband, even on a comm, for a week or more. It had been months since they’d been together in person. His heart ached when he was reminded of how much he loved this man. He tried not to think about it too often. It only reminded him of how much longer they had to be apart.

“You look sad,” George said.

“I’m afraid I’ve come to a realization.”

“Which is?”

“I hate my life.”

“Darling?”

“I hate my life,” Elias repeated. “This isn’t who I was supposed to be! This isn’t WHAT I was supposed to be.”

“Don’t forget why you did all this,” George said.

“Don’t worry. I haven’t. And I’d do it again. In a heartbeat. I only wish there was a way to ease the price I’m paying, just a bit.”

“And what’s bought this on?”

“I miss you,” Elias answered. “And I’ve made some friends. I’d forgotten what it’s like to have friends around me all the time. This station is full of strange people, but they’re all so kind to me. They’re teachers and wildlife experts and security officers and scientists and computer technicians…and they just took me in their arms. I’ve never felt so at home. They fed me dinner…”

“Can you stay a little longer?”

“I’ve already lied to Admiral Galloway to stay here a couple more days.”

He felt the need to look around him. He knew he was alone in his quarters, but it felt somehow like he was being watched.

“George, Starfleet is up to something here. And I don’t know if there’s anything I can do to stop it. The doctor here – he’s a lovely man – is an augment. He, and everyone else, thought that had been shaken out ages ago, but it looks they want rid of him. The crew loves him and I have nothing bad to report – Admiral Galloway seemed very disappointed about that. I just made something up about trying to help them get him decommissioned, or transferred, or…whatever they’re planning, I’m not sure, and the Admiral was all in. They want me to lie – they’re _expecting_ me to lie – to get the doctor thrown out of the service. George, he hasn’t done anything wrong. It’s just prejudice, pure and simple. But I don’t know what’s going to happen to me if I don’t comply. I’m perpetually on thin ice as it is. I just don’t know how much longer I can do this.”

George sat for a moment and considered his husband’s dilemma.

“Do you want to resign?” he asked finally.

“I don’t – I don’t think I do. I can’t. I mean…I don’t know.”

“I can’t tell you what to do. I won’t. But I miss you. Every day. I want to be with you, but I don’t think I can chase you around. I’m so sorry. It would be horrible of me to ask you to resign your commission because I miss you, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want you in one place for a while.”

“Me too,” Elias said. “The travelling is beginning to get to me as much as everything else. If I have to spend another 6 hours on a transport…”

Another long, thoughtful silence.

“So what are you going to?”

“I don’t know. I have absolutely no idea. What can I do? We can sit here and talk about this stuff all we want, but it’s just a fantasy, isn’t it? We both know I’m never going to resign, and you’re not going to leave earth to follow me around in space. No matter how much I miss you, no matter how much you miss me…no matter how much I miss your lips, your arms…not sleeping alone…”

“You need a nap, my love,” George declared.

Elias sighed, but nodded. “I think you might be right.”

* * *

Savannah found herself in the infirmary, sitting on a biobed as usual, explaining a slightly wild idea.

“I need a favor,” she said, mischief on her face.

“And what would that be?” Julian asked.

“Help us jailbreak Elias.”

“And how do you propose we do that?”

“He said he might be able to get a position under another doctor, right? Well? You’re definitely another doctor, and I’m sure you could catch him up to speed on what he’s forgotten.”

Julian smiled sadly at her. “Starfleet won’t listen to me,” he said.

“Oh come on, Julian, of course they will! You’re our Chief Medical Officer. You’ve got a calculator in that pretty little head of yours. You’re _officially_ smarter than anyone else in the room. We’re low on medical personnel and you know it. Just tell Starfleet you need another doctor and you want him. I’d bet you anything that they’d just transfer him, no questions asked.”

Julian crossed the room and leaned on the bed next to the enthusiastic technician. “Just because I’m the most important person in your world, it doesn’t mean that I have any power in any other,” he said softly. “Starfleet dislikes me even more than it dislikes Elias. They wouldn’t hear a word of what I had to say.”

Savannah frowned.

“I know you’d like me to be able to do anything, but this? I think this is outside my powers.”

“I just want to help him so bad,” Savannah said. “He seemed so passionate about being a doctor, and so sad about…everything. I feel like it’s on us to try to help him.”

“I want to help him too. I just don’t know that I can.”

“Will you try? Please? For me, and you, and all of us.”

“Of course. I’ll try. I’ll try and think of something.”

“Thank you,” Savannah said. “And for what it’s worth, I’m pretty sure you _can_ do just about anything.”

“You’re very good for my ego,” Julian answered.

* * *

Julian was trying to think of something. He was wracking his brain, willing his augmented mind to invent a way out as if it were a completely separate entity and not a part of him at all. He found himself thinking this way sometimes; feeling as if his basic thoughts were his own but the mental feats, the augmented parts, were another being, one that he sometimes had control over but most of the time simply had to hope would obey his wishes. Of course that wasn’t true, it never was. It was all him, from the mundane to the superhuman. His friends would have reminded him that hunger and calculus sprung from the same brain. But there was no one around to remind him of that, so he was left alone with his specimens and his thoughts, trying to figure out what to do to save his friend. Elias, for his part, was sleeping, taking a nap in the afternoon exactly as George had suggested. Savannah and Susan were in a conduit somewhere, Robertson was teaching, Irena and Garak were rehearsing a scene from Julius Caesar (Irena having recently gotten Garak into Shakespeare and both of them having a taste for acting.)

Every one of them heard it. A deafening rumble, that crackled from the core of the station and shook the floors.

“Bashir to Ops. What the hell just happened?”

“A dozen people just asked me the same question, Doctor. We’re trying to determine the source,” Dax’s voice came back.

Well, _almost_ everyone heard it. The only person on the whole station who didn’t was…Elias. Years of sleeping on transports had made him able to sleep through absolutely anything, including apparently explosions. The thing that woke him wasn’t the blast, but the subtle beep of his combadge. He’d fallen asleep with it on.

“Bashir to Martins.”

“..what?”

“Elias. Are you there?”

“Yes. Yes, I’m here. I’m sorry.”

“Whatever you’re doing, stop doing it and get down here. I need your help.”

“I’ll be there as quickly as I can,” Elias said. He wasn’t even sure he was actually awake until he stepped into the infirmary and was face to face with the unfortunately familiar spectacle of people in pain. Julian was on his knees next to a young woman he didn’t recognize, carefully brushing her hair out of her eyes to run a dermal regenerator over the burns on the side of her face. Elias knelt on the floor next to them.

“What the hell happened?” he asked.

“Uridium explosion,” Julian explained. “They’re working on converting what’s left of the mining facilities into usable space. The Cardassians apparently didn’t see any reason to take what was left of their uridium ore with them when they left, and a small amount of it was accidentally set off. No deaths, thank god, but lots and lots of burns. Way too many for me to handle.”

“You boys need some help?” came a voice from the doorway. The doctors looked up to see Savannah, Mimi, and Bond, all looking ready to jump into action.

“Perfect timing,” Julian said. “Mimi, you know what you’re doing. Bond, basic triage. Vitals. Let me know if anyone’s more serious than they look. Savannah – get over here and stay close. I’m going to need another nurse, and I think you can read my mind, if needed.”

His sentence was interrupted by a quiet noise of pain from his patient, and he turned his attention back to her. “Where does it hurt?” he asked her. The young woman shakily lifted her left arm. Julian gently pushed up the sleeve to reveal another trail of burns.

“Is it just this arm?”

The woman nodded, and made another sound. “Hey,” Julian soothed. “I know it hurts, but the burns aren’t serious. I’ll have you feeling better in no time, okay? Try to breathe. Deep, even breaths.” The young woman closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath in through her nose. “Good,” Julian said. “You’ll be alright.”

“Do you remember how to be a doctor?” he asked Elias, not looking up from his patient’s arm.

“I can never forget that.”

“Good. Standard triage. Fall in.”

Elias stood and scanned the room. He finally took in the true scale of the situation; several dozen people standing or sitting on just about every bed or patch of floor. It absolutely was too much for one person to handle, and he quietly wondered what the other doctor’s contingency plan would have been if he hadn’t been around. He tried not to think about it too hard and honed in on a young man who was sitting on the floor, looking slightly pale and wobbly. Everyone else looked, if in pain, mostly conscious, and he decided this man was probably his most urgent case. He knelt on the floor next to him, and tried to remember how to turn on his doctor persona.

“Hey,” he said softly. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes,” the young man answered, breathy and tired.

“My name is Doctor Martins. What can I call you?”

“Jori. You’re…you’re not Doctor Bashir.”

Elias laughed. “No, no I’m not. Doctor Bashir needed a little help. How do you feel, Jori?

“Pretty shitty,” Jori deadpanned. Elias couldn’t stop himself from laughing.

“I bet so,” Elias said. “You’ve been breathing uridium fumes. That would make anyone feel shitty. Anything specific causing you any pain?”

“I mean, my leg doesn’t feel the greatest.”

“Let’s take a look at that then, hmm?”

Jori nodded sleepily. Elias focused his tricorder on his patient’s legs. With the scanner alone he could tell Jori’s lower legs were covered significantly in second degree burns, larger patches where the explosion must have caught him.

“You’re got some very impressive burns here, Jori,” Elias said, trying to keep it light.

“Yep, gotta admit they do feel rather serious.”

“I’m going to cut the legs off your uniform so I can get a better look at your burns. That’ll be much easier than asking you to change. Is that alright?”

“Do whatever you need to, Doc.”

Elias carefully separated the legs of the uniform at the thigh and gently pulled them down his patient’s legs, being careful not to touch the burns.

“Gonna be hard to get those over my boots,” Jori pointed out.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll take them off for you.”

“Thanks, doc. Sorry I’m not more help. Feels bad making you do everything, you know?”

Elias gently removed his patient’s boots. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said softly. “That’s the point of doctors, isn’t it? To take care of you?”

“I suppose so,” Jori agreed.

Elias was relieved to find nothing beyond the burns.

“Just some second degree burns,” he reassured. “You’ll be just fine.”

“Hey, uh, doc?” Jori piped up, timidly.

“Yes?”

“I really, really don’t feel well.”

“Uridium gas is heavier than air. It just sits in your lungs if you don’t forcefully exchange it. Take some deep breaths. It should help replace the gas in your system with oxygen.”

Elias listened his patient’s breathing as he worked on the burns. It did get deeper, and slower, but it never quite leveled out the way he’d hoped. Jori still had his eyes closed. Elias was fairly certain he’d never opened them. His eyelashes fluttered.

“Jori? Are you still with me?”

“I have a feeling I’m gonna pass out, doc.”

“Okay,” Elias said, gently patting his patient’s newly healed leg. “We’ll get you some oxygen. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ve never passed out before. I think…I think I’m scared.”

“Nothing to be afraid of. We’ll keep you here, alright? Doctor Bashir and I will be here when you come to.”

“Sure hope so,” Jori trailed off as he lost consciousness. Elias patted his leg again. He really was going to be okay – a little uridium shock and some burns, that was all. Elias affixed an oxygen mask to his patient and watched his oxygen levels for a moment to ensure they were rising (they were) before settling a pillow behind his head and moving on to the next patient. The groove was familiar, even after so much time. The tricorder felt right in his hand, and the looks of appreciation on his patient’s faces felt right in his heart. If he had been paying attention he would have noticed that Julian was watching him, but he was too busy focusing on the injured people. The rest of the cases were simple, more minor burns, a broken wrist or two. Between himself and Julian and their temporary nurses, they cleared the infirmary fairly quickly, all the injured officers leaving in restored health. The last one left was Jori, still curled on the floor. Elias knelt next to him and checked his pulse. He was just fine, apparently simply sleeping, his oxygen levels restored to normal.

“How’s this one?” Julian asked, kneeling next to them.

“Fine, now,” Elias answered. “Severe uridium shock and some bad burns. He didn’t seem to be strong enough clear the gas out of his lungs on his own. I got him on oxygen, but not before he blacked out. He was so frightened. I promised him we’d be here when he came to.”

Julian nodded. “Let’s get him up on a bed. He can come to on his own terms.”

The two doctors gently lifted their sleeping patient onto a bed. He stirred a little at being moved. “Don’t worry,” Elias reassured him. “Just getting you to somewhere more comfortable.”

“Sounds good,” Jori mumbled.

“Need anything else from us?” Bond asked, hovering in the doorway. Julian smiled at her and shook his head.

“No, thank you. You were a great help.”

“I’m headed out too,” Mimi said. “Today was meant to be my day off.”

“I know, I’m sorry. Take tomorrow off too to make up for it, hmm?”

“Of course, Doctor.”

“I’m gonna chill, if that’s okay?” Savannah asked, from a spot she had claimed on the floor. Julian smiled at her. She settled back against the wall, no words being needed. The smile had been answer enough.

Jori’s eyelids fluttered again, and slowly opened.

“Morning,” Elias said softly. Jori took in his surroundings, and both doctors who were leaning gently over him.

“You were right,” he said. “You are both here.”

“See? Just like I said, nothing to be afraid of.”

Jori started to sit up, but fell back on his elbows almost immediately.

“Woah, woah,” Elias said. “I think you need to rest a little longer.”

“Yeah, yeah…maybe you’re right.”

Elias gently stroked his patient’s forehead. “You just rest, alright? You can stay right there, and we’ll keep an eye on you. Nothing for you to think about. No helping, okay?”

Jori laughed, just a little, but his eyes slowly closed again and he relaxed back into the bed.

“That’s it,” Elias continued. “There you go.” He only met the eyes of the other doctor when he was convinced his patient was safely asleep once again. Julian had his arms folded across his chest.

“You said you were _rusty_ ,” he said. “But you don’t seem to have any trouble at all.”

“I think I could use some retraining on technicalities and procedures, but the bedside manner – you never really lose that, do you? I don’t think I _can_ forget it.”

“But that’s what matters!” Julian argued. “Anyone can be taught procedures and technical details. The bedside manner…that’s what makes you special. I could use you, around here. I’ve got a number of patients with medical phobias. Some of them won’t let any other doctors anywhere near them. I’m happy to take care of everyone, but lately I’m acutely aware that there are more medical phobias out there than I am even aware of. It’d be nice to have a pair of hands around here that would be sensitive to that.”

“That’s very kind of you, Doctor. The way your friends talk about you, I consider your good opinion high praise indeed.”

“What about you, hiding in the corner over there?” Julian asked. Savannah lifted her head. “You’ve been watching him treat patients all night. Think you could learn to trust him?”

“I’d certainly be willing to give it a shot,” Savannah said with a smile.

“See? She’s the hardest one to win over. If you can get her comfortable with you, everyone else will be a piece of cake.”

“…Thanks for giving me a chance to be a doctor again, Julian.”

“I suppose you deserve to know that I’ve been trying to think of a way to get a transfer approved for you,” Julian said.

“You’re an angel for that,” Elias said.

“It’s the least we could do.”

“There’s really something I should tell you, too.”

“…Okay.”

“Starfleet wants you gone. And before you say you know, I don’t mean they just want you gone – they’re actively trying to get rid of you. My CO was very bitter about my having nothing but good things to say about you. I may have lied and implied that I was going to invent something negative to get him off my back, and to confirm my suspicions. I’m going to have to go back and tell them I never could find anything, but they’re going to be furious. I don’t know what you can do about it, but I feel like it’s my duty to let you know that at least a certain subset of Starfleet medical is prepared to do anything necessary, including straight up lying, to get you off this station. They don’t like having an augment in such a visible position”

“Why does that not surprise me,” Julian said, rubbing his face with his hands.

“If they touch you, I will riot,” Savannah said absentmindedly from the corner.

Elias watched as his friend’s face shifted from exhausted, to annoyed, to mischievous. Julian’s eyes lit up, and Elias could see the wheels turning in his head.

“Elias?”

“Yes?”

“You’re a genius.”

“How? What? What did I do?”

Julian smiled. “We’re breaking you out of Human Resources, Doctor. And now I know exactly how we’re going to do it.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Blackmail?”

Quark rolled his eyes at the look on Julian’s face. “Doctor, the first thing you should know about blackmail is that those who are skilled at it rarely say it so loudly. Or with that…sparkle in their eyes.”

“Oh come on, Quark! It’ll be easy. All we have to do is convince Starfleet Medical that what they’re trying to do is not in the best interest of their public image.”

“I wish you luck with that, Doctor. But I have to ask…why you’re telling me any of this.”

“Well, I-I-I figured you, being…well, you know, you might have some…tips?”

“The best advice I have for any crime, Doctor, is to not admit you’re committing it. Seeing as it’s too late for that, all I can say is that I hope you know what you’re getting into.”

“It’s for a good cause!” Julian protested as he half-ran out of the bar.

“That would be like you Federation types,” Quark mused to himself. “Any crime is worth it, for a good enough cause.”

* * *

“ _Blackmail?”_

Odo said the word very differently than Quark had.

“Only…a little bit of blackmail. We’re just trying to rescue a friend. Anyway, there’s no demand of money. We just want to get Doctor Martins transferred,” Bond protested.

“Considering that this sounds extremely illegal, I cannot understand why you would have any desire to make me aware of it in advance.”

“We thought it would be better if you had some idea of what we were up to. In case, you know, someone happened to tell security that something untoward was occurring.”

“You do understand that now that you’ve made me aware of this I’ll need to report it to Starfleet,” Odo said.

“Of course.”

The two security officers stared at each other for a moment, each silently praying that the other understood. Bond opened her mouth to speak, but stopped herself, turned, and simply left.

Odo leaned back in his chair and eyed the mug of coffee the major had left on his computer console. He considered his options for a long second, and carefully – ever so slightly – tipped it onto the screen. The computer fizzed and popped, small sparks emanating from it.

“Well!” he said aloud, as if anyone could hear him. “I seems I won’t be able to contact Starfleet now, without my computer console functioning. I ought to contact the repair crew about this. On the other hand, there really are so many reports to read…”

He settled in with his PADD. That computer repair could wait. It could really, really wait.

* * *

There was an unreasonable number of people in the room, and every single one of them had carefully positioned themselves out of visual range. Susan flicked on the console’s visual monitor, and checked the frame. Just as they’d hoped, the only face visible was Julian’s, and he had a trademark look of anxiety on his face.

“Remind me again why _I_ need to be the one to do this?” he asked. “You all know I’m not very good at this kind of thing.”

“ _Because_ no matter what else is happening, you _are_ still the chief medical officer. You’re the one who should be requesting this transfer anyway, under normal circumstances. Also, I think the complaint probably carries a little more weight coming from you,” Savannah said, from where she was hovering just out of frame.

Elias, for his part, was sitting on the sofa, nursing a very alcoholic drink and looking like he wanted to throw up. Irena sat down next to him and gently rubbed his shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

He looked up slowly from his drink. “I literally can’t watch. Just tell me when it’s my turn.”

“Okay people. Quiet on the set,” Susan called, breaking over the sounds of the room. The room went silent.

“Everyone ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Julian said.

“Just get it over with,” Elias mumbled, quiet and ill sounding from the background.

“Okay. Let’s do this, people. Julian, take over.”

Julian took a moment to steel himself, and slipped into character. “Computer, open a channel to Admiral Galloway at Starfleet Headquarters.”

He barely avoiding cringing when the Admiral’s face appeared onscreen. That was a sliminess about him, something impossible not to dislike. He was human, middle aged, with perfectly combed dark hair and a long, thin face.

“Doctor Bashir. It’s nice to finally put a face to the name,” the Admiral said, in a tone that implied he was not particularly happy to put a face to the name.

“I appreciate your taking the time to speak with me, Admiral. I was told if I had a staffing concern, you were the person to speak to?”

“It depends on the context, but generally, yes, Doctor.”

“Right. Let’s get down to business, then. You may be aware that Deep Space Nine is always slightly understaffed. Not many officers want to be out here on the edge of Federation space, especially not with the Cardassians on our doorstep.”

“I’m not sure I would want to be out there either, Doctor,” the Admiral said.

“It’s certainly not for everyone,” Julian agreed. _You couldn’t handle it,_ he thought, but knew better than to say. “I myself am quite shorthanded in the medical department. It’s only myself and Doctor Girani, and nurses Hortak and Jabara. I have some other staff, of course, but two doctors are really not enough to properly care for almost two thousand officers.”

“Very understandable,” the Admiral replied. “We’ll see about finding a suitable addition to your staff. This year’s graduating class has some truly promising young doctors, I’m sure one or the other of them would be willing to to come hang out on the backwater you all so affectionately call a station.”

Julian winced. So that was what it felt like. “Actually, Sir, I already had someone in mind.”

“Oh? Let me know who you’re considering, and we’ll see what we can do.”

“I was hoping you might be able to transfer over Doctor Elias Martins, Sir.”

The Admiral’s face contorted into an expression of absolute fury. “Doctor Bashir, while I appreciate your enthusiasm, Doctor Martins is no longer considered a practicing physician in Starfleet. As I presume you’ve spoken to him in the last few days, I would have hoped this was something you already knew.”

“I’m familiar with his current position, yes. However, we had a minor accident yesterday with a high number of casualties. I was _forced_ to seek Doctor Martins’ assistance in triaging and managing the injured. He’s an exceptional doctor, Sir, and as far as I’m concerned he’s the best I could possibly get.”

The Admiral squirmed. “Doctor Martins has not been a practicing physician for almost six years, Doctor. I’m sure we would have no difficulty finding a candidate in this year’s graduating class who could far outstrip Doctor Martins’ medical skills.”

“I’m not particularly concerned about raw medical skills, actually. A significant percentage of the station’s compliment has sensitivities to medical interactions. One of our teachers, for example, requires some simple but specific accommodations to be able to receive treatment in a way that’s even _close_ to comfortable, and one of our computer technicians similarly requires an exceptionally gentle bedside manner to not be made exceptionally anxious by the experience. Part of my job on this station, Admiral, is to manage not only the crew’s physical health but to do everything in my power to help alleviate some of these psychological effects associated with medical treatment. I’ve witnessed Doctor Martins’ bedside manner at work, Sir, and I feel fully confident that he will be able to fit quite comfortably into our unique environment.”

“Doctor, are you on a station full of children?” the Admiral hissed. “We’re talking about Starfleet officers, Doctor. If they can’t get over a fear of doctors that’s primarily on them, isn’t it?”

Savannah made strangling motions with her hands just out of frame, forcing the whole room to stifle their laughter.

“With all due respect, _Sir_ , I think you may be underestimating the extent to which a collective discomfort with medical treatment can cause a mass psychological, or, if they begin to actively avoid treatment, physiological event among a crew,” Julian argued. He was starting to set his jaw.

Irena smiled. She recognized that look. Elias looked up at her in a panic. “What?” he mouthed. “Why are you” – he smiled broadly to finish his pantomime. The smile was forced, and, Irena thought, rather disturbing.

“He’s going to win,” Irena mouthed back. “Just watch.”

“You make some excellent points, Doctor,” the Admiral relented. “However, I regret to inform you that transferring Doctor Martins is absolutely out of the question.”

Irena shoved Elias off the sofa.

“NOW?” he mouthed. She nodded excitedly. Elias put on his best fuck-you face, and carefully slid into Julian’s frame. The Admiral looked as if he wanted to curse.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” Elias said. “I’m requesting a transfer.”

“You know perfectly well that’s out of the question.”

Julian cleared his throat. “I understand my name has been caught up in a plot of sorts, Admiral.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh really? _More acceptable results_ and all that?” Elias asked.

“Yes, as Doctor Martins here tells it, it seems there may have been some manner of conspiracy, relating to me?”

Admiral Galloway’s face paled. “That’s absurd. It’s very rare that we receive such kind words about our doctors, I was merely trying to ensure Doctor Martins was not being biased or incomplete in his examination.”

“Sure you were,” Elias said sarcastically.

“That wouldn’t look very good on the front page of the Federation News Bulletin, would it? _Starfleet Falsifies Records in Conspiracy to Discharge Carrington Award Nominee?_ ” Julian asked. The Admiral shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Don’t worry, Admiral,” he continued. He somehow managed to distort his comforting tones into something creepy and insidious. It occurred to several people in the room that it was shame he’d probably never know exactly how convincing he was. “I’m used to it. I’ve been dealing with it my entire life. I see no reason I should mention this in conversation with the Captain’s son, who I remind you is a primary correspondent for the Federation News Service.”

“I swear, Doctor – ” the Admiral began.

Julian held up a hand. “Transfer Doctor Martins,” he said. “Approve his transfer, and I’ll see to it that no one ever finds out what you attempted to pull on me.”

Admiral Galloway frowned. He seemed to be considering his ways out. The whole room held their breaths. The Admiral reached forward, and there was the distinctive sound of a computer terminal beeping.

“Your captain should be receiving the transfer orders now,” he said. “Doctor, are we agreed that this conversation never happened?”

“Never, Sir. Bashir out.”

“Oh, my good god. Did we…did you just?” Elias stammered.

“I think we did.”

“Oh, holy shit,” Susan said. “Guys, we did it. We did it?”

“WE DID IT,” Savannah yelled. A cheer went up across the room.

Elias smiled broadly at Julian. “I could just kiss you,” he said.

Julian batted his dark eyelashes at him. “Well, what’s stopping you?”

Elias laughed awkwardly and put his hands up. “Sorry, Doc. Married.”

“Ah, well. What could have been.”

“Speaking of married, I have to call my husband and tell him I’m going to be in one place for a long while. He’s going to be so happy. Is there room for spouses on this station?”

“Of course!" Irena said. “Bring him along!”

* * *

Elias was bouncing on his heels outside an airlock, waiting for the love of his life. George came half-running down the stairs, and fell into his husband’s arms.

“Are they really going to let you stay?” he asked, his voice muffled in his husband’s chest.

“They’re really going to let me stay,” Elias answered. “We’ve got huge quarters, every amenity. There’s holosuites and incredible views of the wormhole.”

“None of that compares to holding you again,” George whispered.

Elias ran his hand through his husband’s hair. “Not even close,” he whispered. “Not even close.”

* * *

Savannah was hovering outside the infirmary. It occurred to her that she spent as much time in the infirmary as the medical staff did, but it was sort of hard to avoid. Julian was a chronic workaholic. He seemed to live in the infirmary most of the time, so if one wanted to talk to Julian, it was the place to be. She steeled herself for the conversation, and stepped inside.

“Hey Julian? You around?”

He pulled himself up to his full height from where he was hovering over a console. “Am I ever not around?” he asked.

Savannah laughed awkwardly. “Can we talk? For a minute?”

“Of course.”

She hopped up onto the biobed behind her.

“I’ve been thinking about that conversation we had, about you helping Elias.”

“What about it?” Julian asked.

“You said something to me…something about you not having any power in any world other than mine.”

“I remember saying something like that, yes."

“You know…that was kind of a jerkass thing to say.”

Julian settled into a nearby chair. “I’m not sure I understand why,” he said.

“You read me like a book. Let me try to read you, for once.”

“Go for it.”

“You were self-loathing. You couldn’t possibly conceive of the idea that your words have any power. Well you know what, I think they do. And you know that I think they do. But it’s so hard for you to imagine that, that you just sort of assume I must be silly instead.”

Julian furrowed his brows, but didn’t interrupt.

“Just because I am…the way I am, just because I look at you with stars in my eyes, it doesn’t mean I’m just naïve and stupid," Savannah continued.

“Hey, hey! I don’t think you’re stupid. No one thinks you’re stupid. Or naïve, for that matter.”

“I’m sorry. I get over dramatic when I’m upset. My point is…look what happened – I was right. I was absolutely right that you could pull it off. I know you have your struggles, but you can’t…dismiss our opinions, my opinions, anyone’s opinions of you because of your…why is this so hard to say. What I mean is, when you look at me and say that my suggestion that you might be able to do something can’t be true because you don’t have any power in any world other than mine, what it feels like you’re saying, what I feel like you’re doing, is calling me naïve. It feels like you’re dismissing me because I couldn’t possibly know better than you about yourself. I know it’s just you self loathing, and I understand that, I really do. But I’m asking you to think for a moment about how refusing to just take a compliment could be seen as arrogance, and not just self loathing. I’m not off in some silly fantasy world, Julian, no matter how much I seem like I am. I’m right here in the same reality you’re in. I understand how it works. And you’ve got a lot more power than you think you do.

“Just…respect me enough to believe me when I tell you that, okay?” Savannah asked, unable to help crying.

Julian rubbed his face with hands. “God, you’re right. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Savannah sniffled. “You know I can’t be mad at you anyway.”

“I think you’d have a right to be. I’ll try to do better, okay?”

“Thanks. And one more thing.”

“Yes?”

“I’m over here crying, aren’t you going to hug me?”

Julian laughed and wrapped the crying young woman in a hug.

“All is forgiven,” she whispered.

* * *

“My friends, the next round is on me!” Elias happily proclaimed, holding his drink aloft. It was…he wasn’t sure what it was. He’d forgotten. He was drunk – drunker than he’d been in ages. A lot of the table was drunk, in fact, or at least a little tipsy. Bond had convinced Quark to install some ancient device called a “Kareoke machine,” and, with George’s help, was currently serenading the bar with a rendition of a duet Elias has never heard in his life – something about not breaking hearts. Elias sat back in his chair. He found a warmth rising in the bottom of his stomach. He’d almost forgotten it. It was a feeling he hadn’t felt in ages.

“Elias!” Bond called from onstage. “Did you mean that about the next round?”

“I did indeed, my dear.”

“May whatever god you believe in bless you,” she said.

 _Family._ That was what that feeling meant. The incredible warmth of being a part of one.

Family.

What a wonderful, wonderful thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, here we are. I can't thank you all enough for coming on this journey with me. What started as a couple thousands words of Starfleet bureaucratic satire turned into almost 20,000 words about love, medicine, and finding a family. I've never cared about a character half as much as I care about Dr. Elias Martins. It's been a hell of a ride. And don't you all worry - I'm already writing the next one!


End file.
